Easy Love Isn't Worth Much
by L. Century
Summary: I hated her from the first moment I saw her. Perhaps it was the way she sauntered through Jorvaskr as though she owned it. Maybe it was the way she said so little, yet her mere presence spoke entire conversations. Perhaps it's the legendary status that attached itself to her- an Imperial woman no less. Perhaps it's because she's Dragonborn. More legend than reality.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This idea has been floating around in my mind for a year or so now, harassing me at times. Today when I woke up, however, I needed to purge myself of it. It'll be relatively short and sweet. My second play through all I did was the main quest line. After defeating Alduin, and only being at level 30, I scratched my head and thought, "What do I do now?" This ficlet is a product of that question. Don't own Skyrim, quote's not mine, and I make no moolah off this. Rated M for adult themes and rough sex. Thanks in advance for reading. Reviews make me smile! Just sayin'.**

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"All that he had of her was his memory, where he held every moment, every single moment that she had been his. That was all he had, to keep out the loneliness."

― Juliet Marillier, _Daughter of the Forest_

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I hated her from the first moment I saw her. Perhaps it was the way she sauntered through Jorvaskr as though she owned it. Maybe it was the way she said so little, yet her mere presence spoke entire conversations. Perhaps it's the legendary status that attached itself to her- an Imperial woman no less.

Perhaps it's because she's Dragonborn. More legend than reality.

Besides, no one actually knew what happened for that week when the skies turned gray, the sun didn't shine, and people cowered in their homes, praying to whatever god they thought would care. Bards claimed she beat Alduin, the soul eater, and saved the world. She's been pretty quiet about it all, though, so I'm sure it's just an exaggeration.

And she has enough money to do whatever she wants as she is Thane of every single hold in Skyrim- with a house and housecarl no less- so it would be very easy for her to have paid bards to make up all of those stories and songs about her fake epic battle.

Farkas asked me what I thought -one night over dinner in one of his rare moments of thought- about the fact that she was Thane of every hold in the land. I told him that it was too much power for one person. Because it is.

The rumors went that after her battle with Alduin, she vanished for a year. Now I'm not one for gossiping; I leave that to house wives and scullery maids, but the guards of rifts said that no one saw the Dragonborn come in or out of their hold for an entire year. Her house carls warded off death threats, people showing up to kill the Thane as a pretender, or because she claimed to be like Talos- one with dragon blood. There was always one reason or another they wanted her dead. The housecarls also protected the homes from robbery, receiving gifts from sycophants coming by to honor the Dragonborn, hoping for just a glimpse of the woman. The answers were always the same.

"The Dragonborn is humbled by your generosity and thanks your kindness. She unfortunately is out training and will not return for some time."

Every carl in every hold said the same exact thing. Or so people said. Like I said, I'm not one for idle gossip.

After the year, however, she showed up out of nowhere and nearly single handedly- as the gossip went- ended the civil war plaguing the land, killing Ulfric Stormcloak with her bare hands. I don't believe that story in the least. Placing Skyrim firmly back into the Empire's hands, however, didn't earn her many points in Whiterun or with any Stormcloak supporter. She disappeared again for another year, though, afterwards, and her housecarls were left fighting off the death threats, writing responses to all of the dinner invitations she received, addressing more sycophant's gifts. Looking after the life that the Dragonborn left behind frequently seemed to be a full-time job in my opinion. After another year of disappearing, the mighty woman resurfaced.

And now walked towards Kodlak and I.

The stories about her sexual prowess and amorous adventures also seemed exaggerated to me. Every hold you travel to in this land, someone claimed they slept with the Dragonborn… and that she's fantastic. The stories all sounded the same. Octavia approached them in a tavern, tossed her raven colored hair over her shoulder, batted her eyes as her sun kissed fingers traveled up their arm, asking if they'd like some company for the night. She would take the guy back to her room that she rented that night at an inn, and apparently she was completely uninhibited, wild, and very adventurous. Most swore to love her until the day they died.

But, all they ever had was that one night.

I'm pretty sure it's more propaganda. How easy was it for a man to claim they've slept with a woman as prominent as the Dragonborn? Besides, they're not much of a man to me anyways, if they can't keep their mouths shut about private moments, boasting instead of their 'conquest', trying to blanket their indecent behavior with declarations of love. The two, they didn't realize, are in juxtaposition of each other. If they really loved her, they would have never told a soul of their tryst.

She stood before Kodlak and I tall, her chin raised, not speaking a word.

"May I help you, Dragonborn?" Kodlak asked in his usual subdued tone.

She bowed deeply, her ample cleavage in plain sight before raising herself. "I wish to join the Companions."

Her voice was nothing spectacular. I expected something magical, a voice that made my hair stand on end or leave me enchanted. But, it wasn't. It was only full of authority, spoken as though from a woman who was sure of herself. It seemed she believed most of those lies and exaggerations they all spoke about her.

Aside from her ample breasts, which were in fact ridiculously ample, there was nothing else about her extraordinary. She was tall and strong, muscles carved in her thighs and arms, to be expected of a woman of her supposed status. Long black hair with small braids cascaded down her neck and chest, eyes, a soft honey color, warmly received them. Her skin, the color close to Avenici's daughter, was lightly scarred from battle. She was pretty, I suppose, but she wasn't gorgeous. I have seen many woman prettier than her in my life- Nordic _and_ Imperial.

Overall, I felt rather underwhelmed with this supposed legend.

What stood out about her was how scantily dressed she was. Fur lined leather armor with the symbol of Hircine proudly etched into the front wrapped her body tightly like a second skin. She definitely was not a werewolf herself, however, I could tell immediately. The rest of her outfit was finished off with strange leather boots, bear claws protruding out of them like spikes and leather gloves that were shaped the same. Naked thighs were exposed to the chilly air, as were her arms, neck, and the tops of her breasts. The woman seemed averse to clothing.

"Do you now?" A hint of surprise leaked out of the old Harbinger's words. "Let me have a look at you."

She stood before the man quietly, staring into his eyes. I look, too, trying to figure out what he searched for, because I didn't see anything extraordinary.

"I see," he mumbled quietly. After another moment, he answered loudly, "Yes," and she bowed again deeply.

"What? You can't be serious!" I snapped at my mentor. Having her in the Companions would only bring unwanted, negative attention to the Companions. They didn't need that kind of headache. She had already proven herself unreliable with her constant disappearances.

Kodlak's stared me square in the eyes. "Sometimes people come to seek their fame. Sometimes the famous seek us out. It makes no difference. What matters is what is in their hearts."

"Yes, master." I folded to the man's decision. He had never led the group astray before.

Maybe her presence would bring money into the guild. Strangely, when I glanced at the woman, I saw no reaction from my loud protest at all. There's no resentment, anger, nothing. No emotion or reaction at all.

"If you wouldn't mind, Dragonborn, a simple demonstration with Vilkas here in the courtyard. Would you indulge me, young lady?"

A flicker of disappointment ran through her eyes. She bowed again deeply. "Of course, Harbinger, it would be my honor."

Her words sounded hollow and devoid of emotion as though she recited words off a play's script.

"Would you like some help?" she offered Kodlak.

I stood up quickly, placing myself between her and my master.

"I'll help him," I growled at her.

She smiled tight-lipped before standing there, and waited for us to follow her down the hall, up the stairs, and out to the court yard. The Companions followed like church mice, interested to saw what has caused Kodlak to leave his room.

Octavia stood on the stone court yard proudly and silently as I helped my master down into a seat.

I picked up a practice shield and sword from the table, and she watched me wordlessly. Even though she had swords strapped to her back, she walked over to the table and picked up two practice iron swords, placing her long blades down on the table. They shimmered a strange purplish hue.

The woman walked over to me and held her hand out in greeting. "Octavia."

I shook the woman's hand, "Vilkas, Master at Arms."

Her head nodded curtly. "A pleasure to meet you, Vilkas."

Her voice still sounded detatched and business-like, though polite.

We began sparring, as she lashed out at my shield, spinning and twirling her body as her swords smashed against my shield. The moves seemed so expected, though, I hardly needed to even raise my shield at all, as though she purposely tried to hit the middle of my shield. Her moves were flourished and overdramatic as she danced around me, her swords always meeting the shield waiting for her. It felt as if she wasn't trying either, rather putting on a good show.

"Nice foot work," I heard someone comment. It sounded like Skjor.

"Impressive," Aela said in approval.

When she danced around me for a while, she suddenly bowed deeply with a plastered on smile, and the group, including Kodlak, clapped.

I prided myself at being able to snuff out fact from fiction, truth from lies, and since the moment this woman stepped foot into the mead hall, she did nothing but act.

I was again discouraged and underwhelmed by the whole day. As I turned towards her, I saw that flash of disappointment again, followed by a hollowness in her eyes.

Legends were always exaggerated, fabricated, or twisted to suit the story teller's purposes.

And I knew now glancing at the woman next to me that there were many liars spinning tales to make an ordinary woman seem larger than life.


	2. Chapter 2

One by one she won them over. Every Companion but me loved Octavia. I watched the ways that this so called legend wormed her way into their good graces. With Athis, she showed him something called Azura's Star, and his eyes widened. Over several pints of ale, she told him the entire story of how she came in possession of the strange looking object. She thought he'd be interested since he was a Dunmer- Azura being to his race what Malacath was to the Orcs. Even though it was a private conversation between the two, I may have sat a little too closely and listened in. Werewolves have extra sensitive hearing, and she practically screamed in my ear with her whispers. Besides, I didn't believe that I did anything wrong as Master at Arms of the Companions, soon to be the new Harbinger. It's my job to keep on top of everyone, know what they were up to. And I knew the least about Octavia.

After that night, however, Athis practically idolized her.

She won Ria over rather easily as the woman smiled at her often and chatted with her about deer she hunted in the nearby plain. The fact that the woman even talked to her and didn't ignore the young whelp helped her win over the recruit quickly.

I thought Njada would have been one of the last to cave, with her standoffish attitude, but I was unfortunately disappointed when Octavia came to her saying, "Word around the mead hall is that you're a woman to behold with a shield. I've been having real problems with a few techniques getting my wrist to flex properly. I was wondering if you'd be willing to help me."

The woman stroked Njada's ego all day long, listening to what the warrior had to say, not arguing back, training with her and allowing Njada to teach her, being a student that didn't snark back out of wounded pride. I watched in dismay as Njada fell to her charm as well.

Skjor was won over in a strange fashion. Octavia asked him many questions about his life before the Companions. He was part of a group called the Blades, a group no longer in existence, and fought in the Great War. She was exceptionally interested in stories about his time with the Blades though, and asked him to recall any stories that he felt comfortable telling. She sat quietly listening, but her eyes sparked with interest when he told these stories, leaving me with the impression that they had some personal interest to her. I didn't understand why. From all I researched, I understood the connection between the Dragonborn and the Blades, but that was hundreds of years ago. The rest of the members had been killed off decades ago.

One day, however the old warrior asked to see her blades. With a knowing smile, she unsheathed the long swords, handing them to him.

His fingers ran along the flat of the blade. "It's been a long time since I've seen one of these."

Octavia replied in a low voice, "These blades…they can still be found in Skyrim. You just have to know where to look."

He blinked in surprise. "Truly?" She nodded in response, her smile warm at their private conversation. He chuckled, surprised and a little flustered by her words. "Look at that. You learn something new every day. Good for them."

Aela watched the exchange and walked over, surely to assert her claim on Skjor, as the two were secret lovers.

"What am I missing out on?" Aela asked in feigned interest to give her an excuse to come over and join the conversation. Octavia eyes traveled from Aela and Skjor, and I watched the flicker of intuition go off in her eyes. Octavia took the sword back from Skjor, resheathing the blade before placing her arm around Aela's shoulder.

"Octavia was just telling how some old friends are doing," Skjor said in an even tone.

Aela turned towards the Dragonborn, to confirm her lover's statement.

Octavia nodded. "That's all." Her words were warm and reassuring.

The woman only spoke two words, but she spoke conversations, and Aela's jealousy vanished instantaneously at the woman's assertion that her intentions were honest and a conversation was all that occurred. The two returned to being the closest of friends.

Skjor, however, was won over not so much from her interest in his career as a warrior, but that he believed she always thought before she spoke, a quality rare in a warrior, even more so in a woman. I watched as one of the most respected warriors of the group fell to her guiles.

Aela was also, as a member of the Circle, another disappointment. She loved Octavia nearly immediately. The two went hunting together for game, Aela showing her Archery pointers. They talked frequently in hushed whispers, as Octavia laughed frequently at whatever the red headed huntress said. I always sat perplexed. Aela was not funny.

One night I overheard a conversation about General Tullius of all people.

"He's a total control freak. Him and the Jarl? The poor woman suffers from many unsatisfied nights. And you know what they say about men who don't have the decency to help a woman finish if they've come first." Octavia leaned in closer, whispering. "Thank the gods he runs the country better than he fucks."

Aela threw her head back laughing loudly.

It was the first time I ever heard Octavia curse or speak any way other than exceptionally cordial. That air of politeness always cloaked itself tightly around her.

Whenever I teased the red headed warrior about how warmly she received the Dragonborn, she always bristled, "The Companions could use more strong female blood. She is a fearless warrior. We need more like her." Her eyes would tell me that it was the end of that discussion.

Kodlak fell for her charm too, as the woman went down to his room and talked to him.

I heard the man say, "Sometimes I dream about the mists of Sovngarde."

She spoke to him for hours about Sovngarde and the Hall of the Dead. I listened in on the conversations, but they never made sense. It sounded as though she tried to soothe him, like a mother trying to reassure a child not to be afraid of the dark.

I heard her one day say, "I did meet Ysgramor. He's exceptionally friendly with a personality larger than life. My conversation with him is why I joined the Companions in the first place. He is a man whose memory is worth remembering."

I stood there puzzled as Kodlak would quiz her on things, asking her a dozen questions about all sorts of things- all pertaining to Sovngarde. After their conversations, however, Octavia would leave his room saddened. When she passed me in the hall, she would offer a mirthless, sympathetic smile, patting me on the shoulder. Kodlak seemed in better spirits though afterwards.

But, no one disappointed me as much as Farkas. My own brother by blood!

Farkas adored Octavia. After they went on her trial together, they came back walking through Whiterun practically arm-in-arm with each other, talking easily. As I stood on the steps of Jorvaskr waiting for her to return, I watched in disgust as her head fell back laughing at something my brother said. My brother could barely string two sentences together, let alone say something comical. The woman was such a liar.

Even worse, he always lifted her up on his shoulders as she held her hands out pretending to fly as he spun her around. The whole scene was always beyond ridiculous every time it happened, but her eyes shone brightly.

Octavia also threw parties at her house in Whiterun, Breezehome, inviting all of the Companions to come. They all showed up, however, out of curiosity, wanting to find out what one of the Dragonborn's homes looked like, a place very few in the world could truly claim they ever saw the inside of. Her home was tidy, nicely decorated, and adorned with impressive weapons. The table was filled with food and sweets, and she turned her alchemy room into a make-shift meadery for the night, placing the barrels of ale in there. The first floor held two bookshelves that caught my eye. Books were on various topics- from history to enchanting to smithing lined the shelves. Some were old looking, their bindings worn out, some still faintly smelling or animal or human blood, and some I had never read before myself. Others ogled over the swords and bows that hung in a weapon rack by the door. If someone fancied something, Octavia gave it to them as a present. "It'll be something to remember our friendship by," she said.

When they questioned her generosity, Octavia simply laughed, telling them she could make another one, that the weapons were simply for display anyways, and that she would rather the weapon in a friend's hand serving them well.

As the others all sang, danced, and drank, however, I found myself heading up the stairs to her second floor. More impressive weapons hung on the walls in a tidy and clean hallway. I opened a door to find a small empty room. There were no blankets or pillows on the straw bed, nothing that made the room seem as though it was even lived in. I walked out of the room feeling strangely empty. Walking down the hall, I met another door, and opened it to what appeared to be the master bedroom. I strode into the room, examining the weapons and shield on the wall- they were nothing I had ever seen another one like before all humming with strong magical energy- before turning my attention to a wooden chest on the ground. I couldn't help myself as I opened it, peering inside. What I saw left me dumbfounded. Several masks, all the same in design, differently colored, seemingly made out of different metals stared back. I picked the top one up, holding it in my hands, staring at the mask. It hummed with magical energy so strongly that the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I turned it over, trying to make sense of the object, or why there were so many of them.

"What have you gotten into?"

I turned to find Octavia standing in the doorway smiling warmly, with a teasing look in her eyes, like a mother who caught her child stealing a candy from the cupboard before supper.

Instead of apologizing, I held up the mask. "What is this?"

Octavia walked into the room, gently taking the mask out of my grasp. "They were the Dragon Priests' masks." She frowned slightly before placing the object back in her chest. "I'm missing one though." She talked as if I would know who the Dragon Priests were.

Octavia walked to the other side of the room, searching a table for something. She seemed to find it, picking up a lock.

"Where do you think it is…the last mask?" I ask.

"I'm not sure. I thought it might be in Labyrinthia somewhere. That place has a history of being closely related to magic. The mages at Winterhold were less than forthcoming with information, though, when I couldn't enter the place. The door was somehow magically sealed. It was _very_ frustrating. The Arch-Mage there was expressive in his desire for me to leave."

I scoffed. "Surely the mages wanted to horde a powerful magical object for themselves."

Her eyes were thoughtful. "I don't think that was it. He was unnaturally defensive about the subject. Normally, when someone reacts that strangely, it's because something hits a little too close to home."

Walking back across the room, she placed the lock on the trunk.

Standing back up, she asked, "Would you like another tankard of ale?"

Her question on the surface sounded polite- a hostess accommodating her party goer. But, beneath I heard her silent words… _Because you don't belong up here._

I conceded because I was a guest in her home, remembering to act in a way honorable to the Companions, and left her bedroom, walking downstairs with my family as Octavia closed the upstairs doors.


	3. Chapter 3

After the first night, she took to the beast blood well. Octavia seemed genuinely happy being a werewolf. Allowing her to drink the magical blood, though, was a power move on Aela and Skjor's part, tipping the amount of Circle members that enjoyed being a werewolf in their favor. And to have _the _legendary Dragonborn on their side was to tip the war of not ending the beast blood within the Circle in their favor. She was their heavy hit, their ace in the hole. Octavia didn't even seem to mind being used, or she didn't even recognize the power play.

The move, of course didn't work out as they intended, Skjor getting himself killed. Aela was inconsolable, and sometimes that so called legend went out hunting with her, but many times the red headed huntress sought isolation from the group.

Octavia marked a map of Skyrim, containing the locations of all of her homes and their coordinates, leaving it in the mess hall. If ever one of the Companions was out on a job and the hour was late, instead of sleeping at an inhospitable inn or worse, the ground, they were all welcomed to stay in one of her homes. All of her housecarls had been given instructions on this.

Companion members found excuses to visit her homes. When they returned, they would all gossip about their discovery- what the house carl was like, what the home looked like, how it was decorated, what type of interesting armor or weapons they found. But, lastly, they were all welcomed to sleep in the master bedroom, in Octavia's bed. It was decided that Breezehome, her home in Whiterun, was the smallest of her homes. I wondered when a group of fierce, noble warriors turned into a bunch of gossiping housewives. I was embarrassed for them.

And it all seemed so well timed. Skjor died, and not a week later, Octavia offered the invitation to the group. It was as though she planned the diversion from the group's sadness. It again showed just how incapable she was of being part of the Companions. How dare she try to minimize the group's suffering of Skjor! He was not to be forgotten so easily.

I had my revenge, however, when a courier brought a letter one day while we all ate breakfast. After paying the man a tip- I was sure he would never stop blessing her- her eyes lit up while reading the missive. Aela noticed the woman's face glowing with joy and asked what warranted such reaction.

"An old friend is visiting Whiterun. He'll be here in a few hours." She worried her lower lip. "I haven't got much time."

Without saying another word, she sat up, abandoned her breakfast, and ran for the door, missing Aela's curious expression. I stood up slowly and followed a considerable distance behind her. It was not difficult to follow such an easily recognizable woman in Whiterun. She nearly ran through the town and sought out Ysolde.

"Do you have any kohl? I'm nearly out. Or any red grounded flowers?" she asked excitedly.

"I did get some in…But, it'll cost because getting my hands on these items were-"

"I don't care! I need them now. I'll pay whatever."

The two women walked hastily back to Ysolde's house, the legend nearly shoving the woman along. She didn't _actually_ push the merchant, she also didn't make it seem as though the woman had another choice. When they disappeared into the house, I stayed a ways back until they emerged.

"Well, good luck!" Ysolde exclaimed excitedly.

"Thanks," Octavia replied. She was full of nervous energy.

"Tell me all about it tomorrow," Ysolde said, and the Dragonborn nodded before kissing the other woman's cheek.

Octavia walked back to the market stalls over to Carlotta.

"I need your help!" She cried out.

The surprised merchant glanced up nervously before concern colored her features. "What do you need?"

"Can you braid my hair? I can't do it by myself!" The legend acted as if this problem was a catastrophe of epic proportions. She supposedly killed Alduin? I already see the lies unraveling.

Carlotta's head tilted sideways. "Braided like a maiden receiving a suitor?" There was an easiness between the two as though they were friends. Octavia's head nodded, the motion jerky from her heightened emotional state. My jaw clenched the moment the question floated through the city and hit my ears.

"I would, but I can't just close the stall."

Octavia glanced at all the produce before her. "Then I'll buy it all." The merchant's eyes grew wide. "Will you come then? Your daughter can come, of course, too. I have some books to keep her busy that are on her reading level."

Octavia plunked a fat coin purse down on the market table that Carlotta grabbed quickly. "Alright, just give me a few minutes then. I'll meet you at your house."

The warrior ran off towards her home, and I followed again as she slipped inside her home. I needed a way to step inside her house, but under false pretenses. So, I knocked on her door.

"Just a minute!" she shouted back.

I knocked again loudly, my knuckles rapping against the wooden door. An exasperated woman stood before me a moment later dressed in a fine gown.

"What do you need, Vilkas?" she asked in that same warm voice she used for all of the Companions. I stood there for a second taking in her intricate garment. It was a light green color, with elaborate red and gold stitch work running down the front. A fur wrapped around her neck, both sides attached to a gold chain. She looked every bit the noblewoman that moment.

"Well, come on in. Don't just stand in the doorway." She turned, bunching up the dress in her hands to lift it while running up the stairs.

I walked into the house, closing the door behind me. The weapon rack that had been depleted by the Companions' from their gifts was now newly stocked. New weapons hung from the holders.

I glanced around, noticing the rest of the house still appeared the same. The house was otherwise empty of sound.

"Where's your housecarl?" I enquired, projecting my voice up the stairs.

No reply is returned.

"I'm coming up the stairs!" I shout in warning as I make myself up the stairs, banging a little louder on the steps than necessary to ensure she heard me.

I found her sitting on her bed, a glass mirror in front of her. Her eyes were open wide, and she ran the kohl under and above her eyelid. I watched in strange fascination that this mighty warrior was beautifying herself. Any small amount of respect that I had for her combat skills went right out the window. After completing one eye, she finally turned to me. "What do you need, Vilkas?"

I straighten my back out to ensure I'm standing tall. "Being part of the Companions, you are supposed to train with me, Master at Arms, once a week. We have not trained yet."

She glances at me exasperated, hand mirror in one hand, make-up in the other. "It's only Tirdas, Vilkas. There are quite a few days left in the week. I'm sure we'll manage to squeeze a training session in."

"I want a definitive date. A show on your part that you are willing to commit to the values and traditions of The Companions."

Octavia blew out air, flustered by my comment. "Okay, how about Fredas? Do you have anything planned then?"

"No, Fredas is fine. What time?" My arms are crossed as I stand before her bed towering over. She is not frightened at all, however, her heartbeat like always stays at a same constant pace. Never slows down. Never picks up. Just one steady rhythm.

"How about after the noon bell?" She offered. Her eyes remain on me, giving me her attention.

"After the seventh," I demand.

"Very well." Octavia returned to outlining her other eye.

I stood there, still watching her. When she finished, the woman glanced up asking, "Is there something else you need?"

I tried to think of an excuse to justify my presence. "Yes, if a Companion plans on being away from Jorvaskr for any length of time, it is customary that they inform the other Circle members of their extended absence."

"Understood." Octavia stood up, picking up from the table a small red jar and brush. She sat back down and tried to maneuver the brush, the jar, and the hand mirror unsuccessfully. Watching her struggle with the three, I yank the hand mirror out of her hand and hold it out for her. She smiled widely. "Thanks, Vilkas."

The brush swirled around the little container before sweeping over her eye. Holding the mirror, I now watched her without reservation. How she decided where the make-up should go and where it should not. How she checked her face from every angle to make sure she missed nothing. It was wildly hypnotizing.

From outside the house, I heard, "Now you're going to mind your manners inside. Octavia is one of our best customers and a friend. Don't disrespect her."

"I won't momma." After a moment later. "It's sad about Lydia. She was really nice, always giving me piggy back rides."

"I know sweetie, but Sovngarde needed more warriors." There were a few moments of silence.

"Momma, if Sovngarde needed warriors, why didn't it take Octavia then? She's the strongest of the warriors, right?"

I heard a quiet sigh. "Because Skyrim needs her more, sweet pea."

I know that now as a werewolf Octavia's hearing was more sensitive, and I watched as a black tear trickled down her bronze colored cheek. She quickly wiped it away, then checked the mirror, groaning at her smeared make-up. She stood up, hiding her face from me as she took out a handkerchief, dabbing at her cheek.

I stood there stupidly, still holding the mirror out as I processed the new information.

The door opened quietly. "Hello?"

Octavia took a deep breath before plastering a smile on her face. "Up here!" She called out.

Two sets of feet walked up the stairs, coming into the bedroom.

"Oh, my!" Carlotta exclaimed, startled. "Is this _him_?"

I turned towards the woman who was eyeing me up and down. Octavia chuckled lightly. "Oh, no, this is my friend Vilkas." Octavia stood up in accordance with proper introduction procedure. "Vilkas, Master at Arms of the Companions, this is my friend Carlotta Valentina and her beautiful daughter, Mila."

My jaw clenched from the situation, being found in Octavia's room, holding a hand mirror. All I needed was for this to get out, mighty Vilkas, reduced to being the Dragonborn's hand maiden. I'd be the laughing stock of Whiterun for the year.

I toss the hand mirror onto the bed next to the infuriating woman and bow curtly to the merchant and her daughter. "Ladies." I walk out the door, and they have to jump out of my way not to be run over as I make my way down the steps.

"Well, he's..." Carlotta whispered.

"Don't let his behavior put you off. He's a decent man once you look past the rough exterior. works very hard. Cares for his family more than anything in the world. Very few have that degree of loyalty any more," Octavia whispered back.

"He's not married, is he?"

"Would you like me to try and set you up?" Octavia asked.

I slammed the door shut behind me to let her know just how displeased I was with the whole conversation. The legendary warrior apparently was also a match maker.

Through out the next few hours though, I found reasons to be in the market place and by the front gates, talking to guards about security, speaking to some merchants. Octavia finally came out of her house dressed to the nines. Her hair was intricately braided, small braids were wound together braided into large braids. Her make- up was flawless and her clothing wore well. But, the most disconcerting part of the whole look was the Amulet of Mara proudly displayed on her chest. Octavia busied herself by collecting all of the goods from Carlotta's stall, mother and daughter retiring to their home for the evening and left the bags in front of her stall. There, she waited like a saber cat stalking its prey.

It took hours of hanging in the shadows like a thief before I saw him. Dressed in Imperial armor, the man with a decent warrior's built walked down the city streets. Octavia, upon seeing him, lit up brighter than a night star, walking towards him.

"Hadvar!" she called out.

Hearing his name, a smile spread across his lips as we walked towards her. They embraced beyond meeting, and he pulled away first.

"I heard you were dead." His lips twitched in amusement. I had to step closer to see better.

"Is that so? Well, I heard that you've been telling lies about me, spreading around that you and I killed two dragons by ourselves from Helgen to Riverwood and that you rode one of the monsters to its death." Octavia playfully smacked his chest, angling her body towards his. "You're a very naughty boy."

His head fell back, laughing loudly at her accusation. "Alright, you got me. I didn't think you'd mind too much about fabricated dragon slaying stories. You _are_ the Dragonborn after all."

"No talk about business nonsense tonight. Tonight it's just about two old friends enjoying each other's company." Her heart was beating loudly in her chest, not its normal steady rhythm no matter what she did. I was unaware her heart could even beat this chest.

"Fair enough. Just one more question, if you wouldn't mind?"

She playfully rolls her eyes, sighing. He takes her silence as acceptance.

"Since you're the Dragonborn, was it your ma or your pa that was the dragon?"

She playfully hit him again on the chest before turning and walking away from him, and towards me in the shadows.

"Aw. Come on. You can't be mad at that one. You have to admit, it was pretty good!"

"You told that one at Korvanjund. It's old. You need better material." Her voice sounded bored and apathetic, but her face was anything but. She was lit up. I listened to her heart beat faster.

He caught up to her, gently touching her arm. Octavia continued on. Her heart beat even more out of its normal rhythm.

He ran past her, forcing her to look at him. "You're not really mad." His tone was cocky.

She sighed theatrically again, her lips curling up. "I guess I'll forgive you. You just can't help yourself."

He flashed her a raised brow and a devilish smirk, and her heart beat so fast that I was sure it would push itself right out of her chest.

My fist tightened. That whelp thought he was something special.

Octavia has made her way over to the produce stand, picking up a satchel.

"Would you mind helping me out, tough guy? Those sacks over there are too heavy for me to lift."

He mockingly scoffed. "Too heavy for the Dragon-?"

She pressed her finger to his lip stopping him from finishing. "What did I say? No more business talk. Pick the sack up, and let's go. I've made a delicious dinner tonight that's getting cold."

Her eyes travel to her finger resting against his lips. He only smiles wider. He stepped away from her picking up the sack. "Did you say dinner? Why didn't you say so earlier?"

I stepped out of the shadows, into the market place, and strolled up to the two love birds.


End file.
